Sandbridge Box Set

Chapter 13-2

Andy woke slowly, warm and fuzzy-brained. His whole body ached, but he felt pleased anyway, though it took him a couple of minutes to remember the whys: oh, right. The utter hell that had been Memorial Day in a tourist restaurant—and then the surprise party, with its vodka and hugs and kissing.

Oh, God, he’d kissed Scooter. Scooter had kissed him. It had been sweet and chaste and that should not be making Andy’s stomach erupt into butterflies. But God, the look in Scooter’s eyes…

Andy sat up, groaning at the protesting muscles in his back and legs. The sooner he got Trick walked and got his hands on a mug of coffee, the better. Wait. Why wasn’t Trick already half on the bed, demanding that Andy hurry up and get his ass into gear?

Andy opened his eyes, frowning in confusion. There wasn’t space in the apartment to hide, aside from the bathroom. No dog. “Trick? Time to walk, buddy!”

No response.

Alarmed, Andy swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, ignoring the protesting aches. “Trick!” He stepped into his shoes, half-falling over and trying to suppress the sense of panic. Where the hell could the dog have gone? Andy distinctly remembered taking Trick for the fastest evening walk ever during the not-really-slow period after the seven o’clock rush, and he’d definitely brought Trick back to the apartment after that.

He didn’t entirely remember getting back to his apartment after the party—everything was fuzzy with exhaustion and vodka and Scooter. He vaguely remembered an arm around his waist, half-holding him up as they’d stumbled along the walkway from Scooter’s door to his. Had Trick gotten out then? Had he been out all night? s**t, s**t, s**t.

Andy grabbed a shirt at random and reached for the door, freezing as he realized he hadn’t locked the door or set the chain the night before. His heart started pounding, and he felt like he might throw up. He’d been completely unprotected all night, sleeping and—

Stop it, he told himself firmly. Nothing happened. You’re fine. You have to find Trick.

Right. Trick. Who had probably gotten out at—what, two in the morning?—and had therefore been running along the beach for…Andy checked the clock, and another jolt of panic slashed through him. He was hours late, the lunch rush was probably already done. Why hadn’t anyone woken him?

He yanked open the door and half-vaulted down the stairs to the ground level. He could barely think, his brain ping-ponging between the dog and his job and the damn chain. He jerked open the kitchen door and piled through, already chanting, “Sorry, I’m sorry, oh God, I can’t believe—”

Jason jerked around to face him, and oh Christ, Andy didn’t think he’d ever seen Jason so mad, not even those first couple of days when Jason had been sure that Andy was some kind of con artist or serial killer or something. Andy stumbled to a halt, and took a step back to make sure he was well out of reach of those tree-trunk arms. “Sorry?” he tried again, not even caring at the way his voice spiraled up into a squeak.

Kat was standing at the door between the floor and the kitchen, peering out the porthole style windows. “I could go refill drinks?” She glanced around. “Oh! Good morning, Andy! Enjoy your sleep-in?”

Jason muttered darkly and stalked over to the door. “Can’t believe the nerve. That son-of-a-b***h, why doesn’t he just leave it alone?” He stared out over Kat’s shoulder.

It…wasn’t Andy they were mad at. Andy sagged in relief. He was okay. A breath later, the rest of his brain spun back up. He edged into the kitchen, but couldn’t see past Kat and Jason to figure out what they were glaring at. “What, uh. What’s going on? Anyone seen Trick?”

The dog trotted into the kitchen from Scooter’s office at the sound of his name, tail going a mile a minute. Andy went limp with relief again, but Jason swore, pointing at the dog. “No dogs allowed in the kitchen! Go lay down, boy. Go on. No, you can kiss Andy later. Go lay down.”

Kat mouthed something, a feverish sort of light coming to her face. She gave Andy her biggest smile. “Andy should go! Oh, come here, you.” She pressed her lips together and then started arranging Andy’s hair, pulling the too-long tangles into some semblance of order. She straightened out his tee, brushing the wrinkles from it. “You are wearing the shirt I gave you, how delightful! Somebody loves you,” she teased, tugging his jeans down a little to show off his hip bones, like he was going clubbing and not to collect dirty dishes. “Perfect, just perfect.” She even licked her thumb and wiped something off his jaw.

Andy knew better than to try to stop her, but he gave Jason a plaintive look. “What the hell is going on?”

“Senator Sharpe is here.” Jason’s sarcasm was highly polished and sharp on most days, but Andy had never quite heard that tone before, like Jason was announcing the arrival of a child molester and the stomach virus at the same time.

“I take it we don’t like Senator Shar—Ow, Kat, that hurts!” He didn’t know what was on his face, but it couldn’t be worse than her rubbing a hole in his skin.

“No, we don’t like him,” Jason said. “At least, Kat and I don’t. Scooter likes him all too well. He’s had Scooter on a short leash for ten years. Bastard. Always bringing his new boy toys in to show them off. It’s disgusting.”

Andy could be kind of slow about people sometimes, but this was math that was all too awfully clear. Scooter was younger than Kat by a year or so, which meant the Senator had snared Scooter’s attention when he’d been a teen, probably around the same age Andy had been when Nick had shown up. And “boy toys” didn’t need much interpretation, either. Andy took a breath, let it out slow. “Right. First class asshole, all the way, then.” He scowled at Kat. “And you’re dolling me up because?”

“You need to go back him up. Distract him. Jason can’t do it,” Kat said. “Scooter threatened to fire him, the one year Jason said something to Sharpe. And last year I broke a stack of dishes to get Scooter’s attention, but that won’t go over a second time.”

“You dumped a glass of tea on the boy a few years back,” Jason recalled with a grim smile.

Kat chuckled, lightly. “He was at least nice about it,” she said. “No, you go, Andy. Do something. Make sure Scooter doesn’t get to talk to him for too long. We’ve kept him out of Sharpe’s bed for the last few years, we don’t want to break that streak. Scooter gets really upset, after it happens.”

This was sounding more and more horrible by the moment. Andy gently nudged Kat to the side and peered out the window into the dining room. Scooter’s back was to the kitchen, hands held casual, but his shoulders were stiff and unhappy. There was a young man—a kid, really, couldn’t possibly be more than eighteen—sitting at the table, wearing a polo shirt and khaki shorts, with a fashionably shaved head and thick, black spectacles. The kid wasn’t paying attention to Scooter, but at the person sitting across the table, eyes starry, someone Andy couldn’t see because Scooter was in the way.

Then Scooter shifted, and Andy got his first glimpse of the Senator. And oh, f**k, if that was the guy Scooter had been pining after for ten years, Andy had no chance at all; Sharpe was flat-out gorgeous. Older—in his forties, if Andy had to guess—but wearing it well, with a square jaw and golden-tan skin and dark blond hair that was just the right amount of messy. He had blue eyes and a smile that projected sincerity. Sharpe was movie-star handsome, and carried himself like money and power, a dizzying combination.

No wonder Scooter wanted him. Hell, Andy half-wanted him, despite Jason and Kat’s warnings about what a prick he was. f**k, f**k, f**k. What the hell could Andy do that would possibly distract anyone from that?

He stared in dismay, unable to move. Kat was saying something to him, but he couldn’t understand her over the rushing of blood in his ears.